The Long And Lonely Story Of Trainer J
by Sugarflier
Summary: I sacrificed years of my childhood just to get a shot at pokemon training as a career. And I got that one shot. It was an arduous, gruelling process but it paid off, and now I can go and endure some of the most difficult, but also some of the richest years of my life. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky, there's a life in there for me too.
1. Chapter One

The Long And Lonely Story Of Trainer J

Chapter One

The Obligatory, Introductory Retrospection

* * *

Author's Note : My interpretation of the world of Pokemon. Original characters belong to me, everything else to Nintendo/Game Freak/Whatever.

Now this is yet another story by me. Starting yet another one is probably a bit ambitious, but I really like this idea so I'm going to go with it.

For a start, this takes place in a separate universe from most of my stories. A fair few of my other stories share a common universe, but this one is independent from the rest. It's a far more realistic, grounded and down to earth take on the world of pokemon. It's probably going to be more depressing and also duller than my other stories, with much less action and such, but I'm going to try a lot harder to make this a deeper story because I want it to be good. My other stories I'm just writing for fun really, but this is different. I am going to really try with this, which will mean updates will probably be even more scarce for this story than they usually are, because I'm not going to rush it, I'm going to take my time. Because I really want this to be good.

I should probably have split that into more than one paragraph somewhere.

* * *

My name is J. Pokemon trainer J.

Actually, my name is not J. No. In fact, my name doesn't even begin with J. My name is going to remain a mystery to you, but for the duration of this long, long story, I am going to refer to myself as J. Trainer J.

All of the names in this story are fake, aside from the people who are in the public eye already. Because I don't want the people who inspired these characters to know that this story exists. I don't want them to read this and notice that they were part of the events of this story, I want them to read it and think nothing more of it. So, kindly, if I did base a character on you, shut up and ignore it.

But back to me, because this story is about me. My name is J and my title is trainer. Official title, just like doctor or professor. I am Trainer J. I can't repeat that enough times because I am proud as hell of my trainer status. Just like you would be proud of earning a doctorate, I'm proud of earning a license.

And you know how I earned that license? It's not as easy as people think. You don't just file for one and get it mailed to your door straight away. Nor is it as easy as just paying for one. No, no no no. On top of my crippling school work, I had to study pokemon. While my friends were out being stupid teenagers, I stayed in my house and read about the dietary requirements of crocodilians or the behavioural patterns of mustelids. I had to sit an honest to fucking God series of exams that made my school exams look like spelling tests. I had to take personality and aptitude tests to ensure that I was capable of being a trainer and everything. I spent years preparing for this. Years.

It was a gruelling process, but it finally paid off when I earned my trainer's license at only the age of fourteen. Most people wouldn't pass their test for another two or three years if they passed it at all - that is if they even chose to take the test - but I had put the work in and made the sacrifices throughout the years, so I got to go off early.

So, I left my home in Fuschia. I left the safari and the plains and the beaches and crammed my suitcase into a taxi after saying bye to my parents and giving each a brief hug. I loved my parents, but I was hardly sad at all to be leaving them. No, I was more preoccupied with the journey that lay ahead of me. They, of course, were near to tears but wouldn't stop telling me how they were proud and worried and happy for me and all the rest of it.

My friends were the ones that I didn't want to leave. I had never been good at making friends, so I treated the ones that I did have like the precious commodities that they were. How I was going to make friends whilst travelling across a different region, I had no idea. The thought scared me more than just a little.

One of the many tests that I had taken was the type test. It was a test that took lots of things into consideration - personality, qualities, skills and all the rest of it - in order to decide which type suits you most.

You see, you can't just grab whichever pokemon you want and start using it in competitive battling. No, people have affinities for the different types and will bond far better with that type and generally just get along more easily with that type. Of course, you can try to train a pokemon that you don't have an affinity for, but it's difficult and dangerous. It's generally accepted that the best way to train pokemon is to train your own type.

Of course, some people have more than one affinity. For example, it's common for dark type trainers to also have a ghost affinity, and vice versa. The same goes for rock, ground and steel, and also for grass and poison. There are people who have affinities for two opposite types as well, like fire and water, or something totally unconnected like electric and bug. Then there are the chosen few that have an equal affinity for all types and can train whatever the hell they want, as well the unlucky few that have no affinity at all and just generally suck with pokemon.

So, I had taken that test, I had received my results and I was now heading over to the gym of that type because it's the best place to start. And the taxi that I had just climbed into was taking me to the airport. My parents had offered to come with me, but I refused. I had to be independent if I was going to be a trainer.

"Off to meet somebody, eh?" The taxi driver guessed. He was an old guy with thinning hair, a white moustache and a pair of wire glasses. He seemed like a nice enough guy.

"Uh..." I started pathetically. I was not good at conversation. I froze up for a few seconds and felt all the blood rushing to my face. I was arguably the most awkward person I had ever known. "N-no. I'm travelling," I managed.

"On your own?" He asked sceptically.

"Mm-hm," I said, nodding a confirmation too. Good thing, since my verbal confirmation had probably been too quiet for him to hear. My social skills were really not up to scratch.

I think the driver took a note of the fact that I sucked at conversation because he didn't speak again for the rest of the journey. So, he drove while I stared out the window, looking at the city that I was born and raised in, the only city that I really knew, knowing that I wouldn't be back there for a long time. I felt scared. I had barely ever been outside of Fuschia before in my life. I wasn't sure what to expect.

I gave the taxi driver a tip, awkwardly pausing and stuttering as I did so. He said thanks before I finished talking, cutting me off and putting me out of my misery. He wasn't being rude, he just knew that I didn't want to be speaking and acted accordingly. It was the humane thing to do.

I was so helpless that I nearly forgot take my suitcase out of the car.

I was even more helpless than most fourteen year olds. I walked quickly through the airport, glancing around like a frightened rabbit. I was not in my comfort zone. Watching the people around me strut about, confident, knowing where they were going and how to act in such an environment, I felt out of my depth. I could feel myself start to sweat, purely from fear.

I walked quickly, desperate to just get to the bloody plane. I followed signs and I followed people and I used my problem solving skills, and I eventually made it to my destination with less than five minutes to spare. They rushed me through metal detectors and x-ray machines and checked my passport and training license and other forms, all the while asking me questions to which I would reply with a stuttering murmur. Eventually, though, the horror was over and they let me board the plane.

Inside, the plane looked a lot like a bus to me. Same sort of flooring and same sort of seats, except with folding tables and cup holders. It looked like a bus with three rows of seats really. So, I nervously made my way to my designated seat and couldn't help but feel that everyone I walked past was staring at me. I felt like they would laugh at me as soon as my back was turned. I was like that with people. I wasn't good with them, I was a nervous wreck.

When I found my seat, I found that it was empty. Thankfully. I wouldn't have known what to do if someone had taken my seat - back then, I wouldn't have had the confidence to stand up for myself and tell them to just fuck off. The seat next to me was empty as well. I was glad, and just hoped that it stayed empty. A plane journey with a total stranger was not a thought that appealed to me. But I waited and waited and the plane took off and no one claimed the seat next to mine. I couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over me.

I took my suitcase, retrieved a thick paperback from it and began reading. It was a book about a corrupt, violent, mentally unstable police officer and his devotion to the arcanine that he worked alongside. I was about halfway through it and the protagonist was currently blackmailing a fifteen year old girl into giving him a blowjob. His arcanine had just been diagnosed with inoperable bowel cancer so the protagonist was even more volatile than usual.

I read through the rest of DCI Dennis Logan's story and felt myself sympathizing with the detective, even as he bribed and blackmailed and schemed and beat and murdered and fucked his way to the top of the food chain. Nobody fucked with detective chief inspector Dennis Logan. Well, that is until he got on the wrong side of a gang who then butchered his arcanine. Dennis Logan found and slaughtered them before committing suicide at the climax of the novel.

Not the best book I had ever read, but it passed the time on the plane. I guess it had fairly depressed me, but depressed was better than bored.

Then the plane landed.

I felt like I was in a crowd of cattle being herded as I made my way off the plane - all those people in front and behind me, all directed toward a common destination by a handful of people. I don't know, maybe I was thinking too much. That has always been a terrible habit of mine, and one that I retain to this day.

Again, I was searched. By hand, by metal detector, by x-ray, by everything. Exactly like coming onto the plane, but in reverse. But I carried no drugs on me. No foreign fruit or animals. No weapons. Nothing, so they waved me off and left me to fend for myself in a city - scratch that, an entire country - that I had never been in before.

And before me stood Goldenrod City. One of the biggest industrial cities in the known world, along with one of the foremost experts on the normal type - Whitney.

I stood just outside the airport, feeling like I was frozen in time. Everyone was moving, lugging suitcases behind them or wearing rucksacks or carrying briefcases, entering and exiting the airport and leaving for new countries and going back home and their children waddled by their side or sulked or maybe just acted like regular kids and I just stood there, staring. Goldenrod was magnificent.

In front of me was just a beautiful collage of buildings, some tall, some small, some in between, some old, some new, some hard to tell, but all were beautiful examples of architecture. And the two most prominent could be seen above everything else from the ground - the Goldenrod department store and the radio tower. Both were behemoths that lorded over the rest of the city, as if they knew they were the most important.

Along with studying Pokemon and everything about them, I had studied the region of Johto extensively. I knew I'd have to be travelling there one day, and so I was made to learn about it. Learn about every town, every city, all the notable citizens, everything. I knew that Whitney's gym was north of the department store and east of the radio tower and that once I got closer, I'd probably be able to see the gym - it was a fairly large building.

So I walked and I looked up at the buildings and the sky and looked at the people and just felt overwhelmed. This place was just colossal. I felt humbled even being in such a massive city. It felt like a city built for people greater than me.

And I walked for maybe half an hour. I did get lost a few times, but I always knew roughly where I was going, despite the size of the city. The distance wasn't enough to defeat me.

So when I got to the gym, I just stared. More than any of the other incredible buildings in the city, I fell in love with this one. A giant of a construct, most of its size was in its width and length, not its height - four storeys high if I remember rightly. I knew already that it had an extensive network of underground rooms and chambers and that it was designed to withstand even the most explosive of pokemon battles.

So, I made to push open the doors and stride in, but then found that the doors were automatic just as I went to push them. I lost my balance and stumbled ungracefully into the reception.

"Can I help you?" The man at the desk asked me with a sigh. A receptionist, what a soul destroying job.

"Em..." I started, then froze up. My face was burning after my almost fall and I felt...not awkward, but stupid. Laughably stupid. I felt like he wanted to laugh at me. "Yeah, I'm a trainer," I told him. He looked at me expectantly. I didn't know what else to say beyond that. I didn't know if I was supposed to ask to see Whitney or for a room or for a fucking information pamphlet or what. And he continued to look at me expectantly.

"So, do you want me to try and get Whitney or do you know what you're doing?" He asked me. What a stupid question, of course I didn't well know what I was fucking doing. I nodded my head, with a weak "Yeah," that he probably didn't even hear, too scared to attempt real conversation again.

I knew all about the geography of Johto. I knew all about life or death survival situations. I knew all about pokemon and plants and bacteria and ecosystems. I knew about all the citizens of note in Johto. Christ, I knew how to look after myself if I had to live alone. All my learning and studying and all those tests and exams had taught me all of that. But they missed out the most important thing of all: social skills. I was a social disaster.

"Hey, there's a trainer here that wants to see Whitney, I think he's new," the receptionist said down the phone, then waited for a reply. He was in his twenties, with a good tan and toned, muscular arms. He had jet black hair that he kept up with gel in a modern style that probably took him about four hours every morning. He had a thin coating of stubble on his face - I wasn't sure if it was deliberate or if he had just forgotten to shave - and there was a small bird tattooed on his forearm with a phrase in a language that I couldn't read underneath it.

He was good looking, confident, young, healthy and I was jealous of him. I wished I looked like that, yeah, but more than that, I wished I had his confidence. He could talk to people, and that just seemed so amazing to me. How could you approach a total stranger, open your mouth and just start to converse with them? How could you be so confident in yourself that you didn't freeze up and feel like an idiot? How could you walk down the street without thinking and fearing that everyone was laughing at you behind your back? I would have given anything for that kind of confidence, anything in the world. I'd have given a kidney or a testicle or even my license for just regular old confidence.

"Right, thanks Alicia," the receptionist said down the phone then hung up. I looked at him expectantly, then cast my gaze down to the floor when I realized I was doing so, embarrassed. "She's in the end room just down the hall from here," he told me, smiling and pointing down said hall.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I left to go find said room. I wished I could give someone a real, sincere thank you, but all I could put together were mumbles.

So I made my way down the corridor, head down and hands jammed in my pockets, nervous. I passed door after door until I came to the one at the end and I just stood there for a few minutes. My hand was raised, ready to knock, but I was too scared to actually do so at first so I just stood there and breathed, trying to gather the courage to knock. And eventually, I knocked, almost involuntarily.

"Come in," came a woman's voice from inside the room. I gripped the handle, took a deep breath and pushed the door open to reveal a living room. There was a glass coffee table between two leather couches and a cream carpet. The only thing on the plain white walls was a mounted plasma screen TV. I could see a kitchen through an open door to one side and there was a closed door at the other side - what lay behind that was a mystery to me.

And on one of the couches sat Whitney, an ash tray on the table in front of her and a cigarette dangling between her lips. She was a tall, slim girl in her early twenties, with shoulder length light brown hair and hazel eyes. She wore a pair of old, beat up, black baseball boots, faded skinny jeans and an off-white vest. This was a surprise.

"You can stop staring, I know I look different in the ads, we all do," she grunted. Different was an understatement. On the TV Whitney had pink hair tied up in two bunches and had pink eyes. She tended to wear bright shoes, trendy jackets, short shorts and long, colourful socks. And she always seemed to be a bubbly, ditzy girl on TV, but that's not the air she was giving off now.

It was definitely her, her face was the same. It's just that everything else was so normal.

"So, you're the new arrival to our wonderful gym?" She asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, standing up and stretching. I nodded hesitantly. "You new to training?" I nodded once again, this time a little more confidently. "You're going to suck," she told me. "Welcome to the club."


	2. Chapter Two

The Long And Lonely Story Of Trainer J

Chapter Two

And One Day A Man Proclaimed "I Shall Own The World"

* * *

I was speechless. When I arrived, I had not expected to be told that I sucked. No, I was expecting encouragement and guidance, I had not expected to be put down.

Then Whitney noticed my look of hurt and her eyes just seemed to soften just a little.

"I take it you've got a normal affinity?" I nodded, confirming her guess. "Lucky you," she deadpanned. Never before had I met someone who had such a raw capacity for sarcasm. Then again, meeting people was not my speciality, so what the hell did I know? "Normal's not a good type," she opined. I felt my confidence depleting the more she talked. "I mean, what talented trainers train normal types?" She asked me.

"There's you," I pointed out, cheeks burning as I said it. Why the hell did I say that? Compliments were not my strong suit. She gave a dry laugh.

"Thanks, but I'm not all I'm cracked out to be," she admitted. "The only skilled normal type trainer I've ever met is Norman from Hoenn," she told me. "Lenora didn't have a fucking clue," she almost spat. "And Cheren's about as good as I am - hint: we're not very good, we're really just Norman fanboys," she went on, smiling a little.

"I..." I started, but I didn't know what to say. She had just told me that I was never going to get anywhere after working for years to pursue this as a career. I felt close to tears.

"The normal types drew the short straw, kid," she announced, louder and livelier than before. "I'm just telling you not to expect great things to happen. Don't bet on becoming a champion or an elite or a frontier brain, because normal types suck," she continued. "I mean, I love my team, but their type was in the shallow end of the evolutionary gene pool, you know what I'm saying?"

I nodded once, quickly, biting my lip. I had no clue what the hell to say. I couldn't even make conversation when people tossed me softballs like "Hey, how was your day?" How the fuck was I meant to respond to what she had just said?

"Then again, you might have a shot at leader of this gym whenever I retire," she chuckled. "Not like it's a job that anyone in their right mind would want, mind you, it's a fucking joke," she added, then took a long draw on her cigarette.

The word that jumps to mind when I think of Whitney now is stressed. Just a stressed, tired, cynical young woman that was forced to dress up and act like a ditzy little girl for the sake of publicity. Not like she had a choice in the matter, she'd have trouble keeping her job otherwise.

"So what do you need?" She asked me, stubbing her cigarette out on the coffee table. I repeat, on the coffee table. Not on the ash tray that sat on the coffee table, but on the coffee table itself. If there's a gesture that says 'I don't give a fuck' more clearly, I've yet to find it.

"Em..." I trailed off, both because talking wasn't a skill I had mastered and because I wasn't actually sure what I needed and had to think about it.

"We can give you a pokemon," she offered, looking at me expectantly.

"Yeah, thanks," I said weakly, nodding my head. What else did I need? I needed a room. The media portrayed the pokemon gyms just like battlegrounds, but that wasn't how it was. No, the primary purpose of the gym was as a training facility for trainers. Trainers were given free room and board until they earned their badge. In the meantime, they'd just train until the leader felt they were good enough to earn their badge. During that time, the gym leader acted as their mentor, encouraging, guiding and teaching the younger trainers. And all of this was paid for by the battles held at gyms. Leaders and elites and champions and brains would travel to different towns or cities, countries, even continents to battle other professionals for public entertainment on the gym battlegrounds. It provided the gyms with the funding that they needed to help younger trainers become great - after all, pokemon training was the world's most watched sport and it paid well.

Well, that's what I knew at the time anyway. It's actually far more complicated than that, but at the time I had a very basic understanding of it.

"You coming or what?" Whitney asked me from the door, one eyebrow raised in question. I nodded erratically and scurried after her.

"Where are we going?" I asked timidly, feeling my cheeks burn. I felt embarrassed just speaking on account of how rarely I did it. I heard my voice and just felt like the biggest idiot in the world. I felt like my voice was too deep in pitch and I thought I sounded stupid. Not that was the main problem - the main problem was of course my crippling shyness.

"I'm taking you on a trip to the zoo," she almost sang. Yeah, she was definitely getting livelier.

The zoo turned out to be an amalgamation of a cattery, kennels, hutches and whatever else things can live in. It was just one big massive room with each pokemon in a separate living space, each of them isolated - set free they would probably tear each other apart.

Whitney just stood there, a few feet inside the room. I stood behind her, waiting for her to do something so that I could follow her lead.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" She asked me, gesturing to the room with a sweep of her arm. "Go," she prompted me.

"I...I'm allowed to pick one?" I asked, knowing full well that was exactly what was going on. I did that sometimes - just to make sure I hadn't misinterpreted something, I'd ask for reassurance of something perfectly obvious.

"Pretty much. I'd make sure it's friendly first, though," she advised. "There's nothing worse than a teddiursa growing up to be an ursaring that would just love to tear you a new arsehole," she added, as if she was talking from experience, as if an ursaring had once before torn her a new arsehole.

I nodded my understanding. Body language was much preferable to verbal language. I didn't need to really think about it and it didn't make me scared as hell. It wasn't intimidating in the same way that verbal language was.

So I wandered around the zoo, peering into the cages that housed the widest variety of pokemon that I had ever seen in real life - although that wasn't even that much, admittedly. The zoo was largely dominated by the little problem rodents. The rodents that were almost overrunning certain towns and cities. The rodents that no trainer wanted on account of the mistaken belief that they were weak - in truth, they were just as capable as any other pokemon.

I crouched down and peered into the cage of a rattata. The rat was maybe a foot long, mainly purple with a cream underside. It was fairly unremarkable. Well, that was until it bared its teeth at me. Teeth that I knew were just as deadly as those of any predator. Sure, the rattata couldn't tear and rend flesh like a luxray, and nor could it snap a bone in half like a feraligator, but it could just gnaw all the way through a limb or remove a digit with a quick snap of its jaws.

However, it was currently baring those teeth at me so I moved on.

The next pokemon I looked at was a sentret. At first I thought it looked promising - I had always liked sentret and even had a pet one when I was a kid - but on closer inspection it was a thin creature, with thinning hair that was graying in places and back legs that didn't quite move right. He was an old boy - the legs weren't working quite right because he was in the early stages of spinal cord degeneration, a condition experienced primarily by the males of the species. Better to just leave the old boy to die in peace.

In total, I spent over an hour looking through the zoo. I wasn't just going to pick the first pokemon that tolerated me - no, I was going to make sure that my first pokemon was the best one possible. And eventually I discovered a zigzagoon. A burly little brown and cream raccoon with striped, bristly fur and a black mask pattern on its face. It liked me - it was up at the bars of its cage, sniffing at my fingers curiously. I smiled at it.

This little guy was not my starter.

As I was admiring the zigzagoon - it was an impressive specimen, easily bigger and stronger than the average of its species - an adamant meow distracted me. I whipped round and peered into the eyes of a stubborn, cream-coloured cat in a cage. It was sitting up proudly, staring at me with unblinking eyes. Its tail was sweeping back and forth slowly, but it was barely moving apart from that. Stubborn. Challenging. Intelligent. Strong.

This nasty little bitch was my starter.

"This one," I announced with rare confidence. I knew I wanted her.

"What one?" Whitney shouted. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her making her way through the zoo, trying to locate me and my new starter. "Oh," she said, surprised. "You're not a total retard, well done." I wasn't sure what to make of that really.

"Uh..." I started, not exactly sure what I was going to follow that up with. In the end, it didn't matter because Whitney interrupted me.

"I figured that - like most new half-wits - you'd go for a slakoth or a munchlax or something 'cause, you know, they're pretty kick-ass pokemon," she explained. "I mean, at least half of the spastics I give pokemon out to look for that kind of thing straight away, forget about the fact that they're pretty much temperamental assholes, you know?" I nodded uncertainly. "Not like we ever have many of those in here, if any at all, we ain't made of money. Course the fucking asshats that come in here rarely seem to realise that." She was throwing insults around so freely that I was getting nervous in case any were aimed at me.

Whitney moved past me and crouched down in front of the meowth's cage. "33B..." She muttered to herself. "Come with me," she ordered me, standing up and walking swiftly to the back of the room.

She took me to a huge glass case filled with pokeballs of every kind. Most were the standard red and white variety, but the primarily blue and white great balls weren't uncommon either. There were a few grey, yellow and white ultra balls dotted about too, as well as some miscellaneous specialised balls.

She fished some keys out of her pocket, located the right one and unlocked the case. She slid the case open and picked out a regular pokeball within about ten seconds.

"Here you go," she said, handing it to me. I took it in one hand and was surprised by the weight. It was a baseball sized metal ball, the top half red, the bottom half white. There was a white button on the front of it that could both minimise it and return the pokemon that belonged in it. The digits "33B" were engraved on the front in plain, block capitals, but aside from that there wasn't a scratch on it. It was all new, shiny chrome.

I think I might have just stared at the beautiful piece of technology for too long because when I looked back up, Whitney was staring at me and it looked like she had been waiting a while. I felt my face redden with embarrassment.

"Come with me," she instructed, turning on her heel and walking out. I followed obediently. I paid attention to where we were going. We passed reception and the handsome receptionist again, then ascended a flight of stairs. We climbed to the third floor and she led me through a series of white walled corridors dotted with a series of light brown wooden doors. I remembered the route for the most part.

And eventually she led me to a room labelled '16C'. It was essentially a dormitory. There were two bunk beds in the little room, an adjoining microscopic bathroom and a TV that looked like it may or may not work. Not that I was complaining since I didn't have to pay for my stay.

"Break anything and I'll break your fingers," Whitney warned me casually when she opened the door. There's very little in the room to break, I thought to myself. I didn't dare say it out loud, though. "Okay," I said uncertainly and nodded my head hesitantly as she left.

The only bed in the room that was actually made was the lower bunk of the bed on the left - the rest had all been slept in. I claimed that one as my own.

I didn't have much in the way of belongings, so unpacking was quick at least. My trainer's license was already in my pocket. I had my clothes, of course - a few pairs of jeans and a variety of shirts and t-shirts as well as some underwear. There was my ancient brick of a phone that I barely knew how to work and I had brought three books with me - the one I had read on the plane and two others that I hadn't started. I located a chocolate bar that seemed to have eluded me while I was on the plane and found a new notepad and pen. That was it. All my belongings.

I noted that I had only the one pair of shoes - the ones on my feet - and resolved to purchase another pair at some point.

I walked to the minuscule bathroom, locked the door behind me and turned the shower on. I tested the water with my hand a couple of times and stripped down after I decided it was warm enough. And as I stepped into the shower, a wave of fear crashed down on me along with the water.

I had moved out.

I was starting my career.

I was alone.

I had only been at this for a few hours.

I was screwed.

So I just stood in the shower, the water running down my face and back and I thought. There was a knot in my stomach and my breathing was deeper and quicker than it usually was. I was panicking. So I stopped thinking. I just cleared my mind and focused on my breathing until it steadied somewhat. I still felt panicky, my breathing still wasn't totally normal and my stomach still had a little knot in it, but I was getting it under control.

Yeah. Under control. Done.

I stayed under the water for a long time. Maybe an hour or so. I was like that with water. If I ever went into a shower or bath, I never wanted to come out again. Even if the water started to get colder, I'd stay in it until I was close to freezing. I liked the water.

I stepped out, dried off, redressed and walked out and met my room mate. Well, one of them. That was something I had not expected.

"Hey," he greeted me with a hesitant wave of his hand. I quickly judged that he wasn't the particularly social type either. He didn't exactly scream 'socially awkward' but there were just a few hints of it. There was an uncertainty about him, like he knew what he was supposed to do but didn't quite feel comfortable actually doing it. His wave had been half hearted, like he wasn't really sure what he was doing. He point blank refused to make eye contact too. "I'm Luke," he added, louder, clearer, more confident this time. Awkward, but clearly not cripplingly shy like I was. It seemed he'd had more practice with people than I had too.

Luke was tall. Really tall. He must have been near six feet and he probably wasn't finished growing. He was skinny. In shape - his arms were toned and veins were popping out of them everywhere - but nonetheless skinny. I guessed he was just built that way. I judged that he was older than me too, but not by much. He didn't have any facial hair, so he couldn't have been that old, I thought. His hair was longer, like mine, and brown, also like mine, but his was dark while mine was light. A fringe fell across his forehead, but didn't fall into his green eyes, while the rest of his hair framed his long, tanned face. I couldn't help but think he was a somewhat good looking guy - and before you jump to any conclusions, noticing that a fellow male of the species is attractive does not necessarily mean that I'm gay.

"Uhh," I croaked, eyes wide. I hadn't expected to be confronted with an unfamiliar human being so soon. I was taken unaware and I wasn't ready for this. I managed to blurt out my name eventually. My voice was cracking and I could feel myself starting to sweat. Straight after a shower too.

He nodded, seemingly more for his own benefit than mine - an act of body language could often times save someone from having to speak, I would know, I had used the trick enough times.

We stood there awkwardly, avoiding eye contact, neither one of us wanting to speak. I had to say something, this guy was my room mate. I had to bloody say something. Topics. Topics of conversation. Friends? No. Interests? Hobbies? No and no. Home life? No fucking way.

"How long have you been training for?" I asked hesitantly, my voice sounding too stiff, my words too dull, like they had been hastily rehearsed inside my head - which they had. Pokemon was a good topic for trainers, we all wanted to talk about it. I hoped to everything I had faith in that just this once this would start an easy, halfway decent conversation.

"Five months ago," he replied, seemingly a little more comfortable. "I just got my first badge last month," he added, a flicker of pride flashing across his face. "You?"

"I only started today," I answered shortly. What the fuck else could I even add to that? I really wasn't good at this. "W-what gym did you come from?" I blurted out as the thought occurred to me, just as he opened his mouth to say something else. This was going okay at any rate. Well, so far.

"Ecruteak," he replied, then paused. Trying to think of more to add to that. I knew the feeling - conversation just really did not come easily.

"What's Morty like?" I asked hesitantly, trying to help him along. He broke into a wide grin at that.

"Aw, man, Morty's fucking amazing!" He sounded more confident and lively than he had since the conversation started. I was happy to have been of help. "Oh my God, he's -" Luke started, then cut himself off. "Nah, I'm not giving you any spoilers actually," he decided. "Just wait until you meet him." He was grinning so wide by now that I thought his face might rip. I was struggling to think of a reply, and probably wouldn't have come up with one at all if Luke hadn't spoken again first. "You finished in the bathroom?" I nodded a confirmation and stood aside to let him past, noticing only then that he was wearing sweatpants and was soaked in sweat.

So, having washed, unpacked and met my room mate, I did what I had waited for years and years to do. I fished the pokeball out of my pocket, admired the shine that the chrome gave off again and hurled it at the floor. There was a loud thud as it hit the floor and bounced, then a blinding flash of light and suddenly my pokemon was in the room.

I just barely managed to catch the pokeball on its bounce back up - not like that was my main concern.

She was big for a female of her species. Hell, she was bigger than most males of the species too - her shoulder was about level with my knee. Smooth, short, clean cream fur covered her entire body - unusual, most members of her species had some brown on them somewhere, often the tail. Her eyes were unusual too - green, instead of the normal blue. And those eyes, she could have stared down anything with those eyes. There was a circular coin, pure gold, embedded in her forehead, gleaming despite the low light - easily the species' most notable feature.

And it wasn't a big thing. There was no instant friendship. Nor was there a rocky start. She didn't panic or lash out and attack me. She did nothing at all out of the ordinary. She sat there on her haunches, straight up, proud, staring me down. And when I eventually looked away, she lost interest. She turned swiftly and jumped up onto the top bunk of one of the beds and went to sleep. One of my room mates' beds.

I just shrugged to myself. I didn't feel up to the task of trying to move the stubborn creature, so instead I just stripped to my underwear and climbed into the bottom bunk that I had claimed as my own, leaving one of my room mates to deal with the cat that had invaded their bed. Oh well, I was tired and it was getting late anyway.

* * *

I awoke with a...not quite a scream, but close enough, about twelve hours later, which was roughly half nine in the morning.

I. Was. Soaked.

And Whitney stood over me, and empty pint glass in her left hand, cigarette held delicately in her right. "Morning," she smiled brightly. I was so flustered, all I could do was pull the covers up to hide my bare torso - I wasn't exactly comfortable having my bare torso on display in front of any girl, much less the leader of Goldenrod gym.

"She does it to everyone on their first morning," someone called from somewhere - one of my room mates, I assumed, although not Luke as I didn't recognise the voice.

And I still wasn't sure what to do. I just sort of looked around uncertainly, eyes wide. I saw an older trainer - maybe sixteen or seventeen - with a pink and purple fringe sitting on the edge of the top bunk of the bed opposite mine. He was fiddling with his phone, jabbing buttons on the top and the side of it. Eventually, he started slapping the thing. That seemed to do the trick because he put it back in his pocket afterwards.

"Hey Whitney!" Someone else called. This wasn't the same voice from before. No, this voice was deeper.

"What?" She called back to him, turning around. While she was distracted, I reached down and pulled my t-shirt from yesterday over my head, hiding my bare skin. I felt substantially better after that.

"That's me heading," The trainer told her, stepping towards the door. He was much older than I was. Late teens, maybe even early twenties. He was tall, well over six feet - if I had to guess, I'd put him closer to six and a half. And not just tall, he was broad too. He was built big and had put on the muscle to match his frame. I didn't miss the five pokeballs clipped onto his belt. I got the impression that he was good just by looking at him.

"Oh?" A look of dismay crossed her face. "Well, bye Sean," Whitney smiled, an expression of genuine warmth. "Good luck, I'll miss you." Sean smiled once in return, pulled the door open and left. Whitney followed a few minutes later.

With Whitney gone, I could finally get up and get dressed. I tore off the dirty t-shirt that I had pulled on just to cover myself up and selected a fresh one instead.

"Sean left," pink and purple fringe announced as the bathroom door opened. Luke stepped out, hair dripping wet, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist.

"And there goes the only talented trainer in the whole gym," he replied with mock dismay, pulling on a pair of boxers underneath his towel.

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated," pink and purple replied, briefly looking up from his phone.

"It's true though," Luke opined, tugging on a pair of faded jeans. "I mean, Whitney's been fussing over the guy for months like he's a champion in the making or something when he's really not," he continued. He was currently stuck with the dilemma of which t-shirt to choose - the torn one or the dirty one. In the end, he chose torn.

"Debatable," pink and purple disagreed, this time not even deigning too look up from the little screen.

"Oh come on, are you serious? Fair enough, the guy's an electric trainer, that's something, but he's not exactly a tactical genius," Luke argued as he pulled on his socks. "I mean, you saw him training and you saw his gym challenge. Ninety percent of the time he sends his electivire out to just steamroll whatever's standing in front of it. He thinks the fucking thing's indestructible and it's going to get the poor bastard killed one day," he explained. "Stupid fucker," he finally finished as he tied the laces of his trainers.

Gone was the awkward Luke that I had walked into yesterday. In front of me stood a confident young guy with maybe too much to say for himself and just the right amount of arrogance. Maybe I had taken him by surprise yesterday or something, or maybe it was just that he was used to and comfortable around pink and purple seeing as they were room mates.

Pink and purple didn't look happy at Luke's opinion of Sean, but there wasn't much that he could do about it. Going by what I had just seen in Luke, I got the impression that he would just tell pink and purple to fuck right off if he had said anything to him.

Meanwhile, I had also finished getting ready. I was wearing a new pair of jeans and a pale blue t-shirt with my baseball boots - as I mentioned before, those were the only shoes that I owned.

"Hey, Stella," Luke called, looking around the room for a bit. "Hey, Stellaaaaaaaa!" Louder this time. A few moments passed before something scurried out from underneath his bed. It was an orange dog with black stripes and a fluffy, cream mohawk and a bushy tail of similar fur. It was pretty big, just above knee height, round about the same as my own pokemon. Luke didn't praise her when he saw her coming. Instead, he just turned towards the door and whistled sharply. The dog followed without question.

Meanwhile, I had just managed to locate my new pokemon and return her to her ball.

So, Luke had a fire affinity? Not a bad deal. Certainly beat the hell out of what Whitney and I were stuck with.

"Hey, wait a sec," pink and purple called to Luke, who was already out the door. He jumped from his bunk, patted his pockets to make sure he had everything and then ran out the door after Luke. "You coming?" He called to me as he left, seemingly more as an afterthought than anything else.

I jumped from my bed and followed, not really sure what else to do. I didn't catch right up to the other two for fear of having to talk to them, but I still stayed close so that I could follow them. You know, not like I knew my way around yet.

We descended to the ground floor and approached the west wing of the gym before the other two finally came to the door that they wanted.

I had seen this room a hundred times before in photos and in videos and documentaries, but it was so much more appealing in real life. It didn't look any different to what it did on the screen, but you couldn't feel the atmosphere of somewhere over a screen. And the atmosphere here was electric.

The room was massive. Massive. There was a high roof, scaffolding everywhere, mats placed down everywhere, even a pool or two dotted about the place. And everywhere, crude battlefield boundaries had been drawn on the concrete floor with chalk. It smelled like bare stone and sweat and smoke. I loved it.

This was the main training room in the Goldenrod gym. It wasn't decorated nice like the rest of the gym - not much point, seeing as things routinely got destroyed in here. It was made for practicality, not style. And practical, it certainly was.

There were dozens of gym trainers in here already, but few pokemon - and the few that were out were sitting quietly, obedient. Whitney, too, was there. More important that Whitney, though, was the Pokemon that was with her. She was a gargantuan ungulate, nearly as tall at the shoulder as Whitney was. Her thick, pink skin was dotted with jagged, black shapes in a seemingly random pattern. Her substantial belly, though, was yellow while most of her head was a solid black, with two gleaming white horns sticking out of her skull. The cow looked around slowly, like she was just looking for something to beat up. This was Whitney's miltank, her first pokemon, her strongest pokemon, the cornerstone of her competitive team, Taegan, also known as the Mother Superior.

To see the great beast in person was an honour. Even from such a distance. I had heard the tales about this creature. She could heal herself from more or less any injury in little to no time. She was very, very difficult to stop. Admittedly, not many pokemon had managed it on their own. One of Champion Lance's dragonites had did it once, as had Leader Brock's onix and - somehow - Morty's gengar. Aside from those three, no others came to my mind. And aside from the ones that had beaten her, she had also taken hits from Jasmine's steelix, Bruno's machamp, Lt. Surge's electabuzz, countless others and still managed to remain standing. She really was a force to be reckoned with.

In the distance, I saw Whitney's mouth moving, but I couldn't hear a thing over everyone else. She tried shouting a few more times, but her attempts to be heard were unsuccessful. Then a pink creature waddled out from behind her. It was just about two feet tall, pale pink, flabby skin, beady eyes, a large mouth and stubby limbs. It looked more like a cartoon character than a living thing.

Another member of Whitney's competitive team, but hardly in the same league as Taegan. Her clefable was certainly a powerful pokemon, but not anything extraordinary. I couldn't really recall a whole lot about the creature apart from the fact that it was a pretty average battler by all accounts.

"Listen!" It bellowed in Whitney's voice, reaching even right to the back of the hall. Everyone shut up when that happened. "Right," the clefairy boomed, and I realised that when Whitney spoke, her clefairy repeated it in Whitney's voice immediately after, except amplified so that everyone could hear. "Basically, new guy," she - they? -said to the crowd. "He's at the back," she pointed out ever so helpfully. I felt all eyes turn towards me and wanted to crawl under a rock and die. "There's no doubt in my mind that he knows what he's doing, but a bit of help from someone a bit older and wiser never hurt anyone, so lend him a hand, yeah?" There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone in the room. "And another thing, if I see anyone taking the piss, I'll personally punch absolute fuck out of them," she added, face totally straight. "And those of you who know me know that I'm actually not kidding." I didn't doubt her for a second.

And that was the end of it. Everyone got down to training and a few of the ones in my immediate vicinity took special interest in me. I was expecting a lot of sparring and mock battles and the like, but the reality was just a lot of people repeating words to pokemon and trying to demonstrate what said word meant. A few of the more advanced trainers were engaging in mock battles with other trainers, but they were the minority.

For my part, I hadn't even released my pokemon yet. There was so much pressure. Four or five trainers had gathered around me and were firing out questions and pieces of advice so rapidly that I was having trouble processing it all while I felt obligated to mumble responses and answers to their questions. I could feel myself sweat and blush and I hated it all. I just wanted to disappear. To not be there.

Don't get me wrong, they were all nice. They were all just trying to help a novice out and make me feel like one of them, but it had the effect of making me feel like the world's greatest freak. I did not like being the centre of attention. Not one bit.

"Hey!" I heard someone shout. I recognised that voice. I looked over to my left and spotted Luke standing against a wall, his growlithe by his side. He jerked his head to the side, inviting me over. The other trainers saw his invitation, saw me starting to leave and got the message. They left me alone, thankfully. Quite honestly, I felt like a real piece of shit for not appreciating their help, but I had been panicking too much to really think straight.

So I walked hesitantly over to Luke, hands jammed deep into my pockets.

"Might want to get your pokemon out," he suggested when I finally reached him.

"Yeah," I replied weakly, digging into my pocket for 33B's ball. I still didn't have a name for her. I pressed the button on the front of the ball and it doubled in size, then I hurled it at the ground and caught it on its bounce back up. There was a flash of light and suddenly my starter was there, sitting on the mat, tail twitching slightly, gazing around regally.

"Well it's calm, that's sure as hell something," Luke commented, back to that sort of awkward way he had been yesterday, when I first met him. Maybe it was in response to my own awkwardness - I was acutely aware that I couldn't possibly be an easy person to speak to.

"What was she like at first?" I asked quietly, nodding to his growlithe - which, for her part, was also behaving amicably. I had half expected her to chase my own pokemon, but the dog had seemingly resisted. Or maybe it was just that she didn't feel up to the task of tangling with a cat that was about the same size as her.

"Well the two of us got along straight away," he told me - I noticed that he was avoiding eye contact. "But God help any living thing that came within ten feet of me," he continued, smiling now at his dog, seemingly remembering fond memories. "There's a reason they're known for being loyal."

"Yeah," I replied. What a pathetic response. No fucking wonder people couldn't talk to me.

"I guess it's a long shot to hope that it knows any commands?" Luke asked, nodding to my pokemon.

"Pretty much," I confirmed. Not a great response, but I was settling into Luke's company. I wasn't sweating or blushing involuntarily anymore, my responses were getting just a little more natural and I wasn't really mumbling anymore either. I was starting to get used to Luke, just a tiny little bit.

"Ah well," he shrugged. "You should teach her how to scratch and bite, those two and a some decent tactics should get you your first badge," he suggested. I nodded thoughtfully, non verbally telling him that I had taken his advice on board. "What's her name?" He asked, seemingly settling into my less than interesting company a little.

"She doesn't have one," I admitted. "I can't really think of anything." Bland, bland, bland. I didn't blame other people for not wanting to talk to me.

"So, what do you call her?" He asked, puzzled. "Just cat?" He added with a laugh.

"I don't call her anything yet, I only got her yesterday," I explained with a chuckle. I was starting to actually enjoy Luke's company.

"You could always just call her 'Cat'" he suggested, not at all serious.

"I could," I acknowledged, not entirely kidding.

* * *

"Hey, Kit!" I scolded her, voice cold, hard.

And hours later, I was still in the main hall, training. Training consisted mostly of repeating words to Kit and sort of hoping that she figured out what they meant.

And my cat was currently a few feet from Luke's growlithe, back arched, claws out, hissing. For her part, Stella wasn't exactly behaving well either. She was crouched, hackles raised, teeth bared, snarling and growling. I wasn't sure which one had instigated it, nor was I sure which one would come out on top if they were to fight.

My cat took a quick swipe at the fire dog but she ducked under it - that dog was all fast footwork - and returned to her ready position at the same time as my cat, drooling fire. They were back to square one. My cat was stronger with better reflexes and an extra set of weapons - her claws. The dog, though, was that little bit bigger, had fighting experience, basically unlimited stamina and the advantage of fire.

"Stella," Luke warned his dog, voice low, threatening. His dog gave one last growl before turning slowly away from my cat and spitting a small mouthful of embers into the air. I had to commend Luke, he had his companion fully under control. Unfortunately, I could not say the same about myself and mine.

My cat just settled down on her haunches in response, staring at the retreating form of the dog in indignation. This thing. As far as starters go, I could probably have picked better - the zigzagoon that I had been seriously considering would probably have been a better choice in hindsight - but something about her just jumped out at me. Fair enough, she was naturally predisposed to being a fighter. Physically one of the more impressive individuals of her species, as well as one of the sharper minded individuals. Aggressive, although not overly so. She exhibited a healthy fear of her opponents too, yet never gave in to that fear - she used it to drive her instead. She was good for that, but she was stubborn - a trait her species is well known for - and disobedient. My attempts to train her so far were totally and utterly fruitless.

"Forget this," I muttered to myself, not loud enough for anyone to hear, as I brought out her ball. I pointed it roughly in her direction then pressed the button in the middle. One red laser beam later she was trapped in the chrome device again. Little bitch.

"You look about done," Luke observed, sauntering over, Stella right by his side.

"Basically am," I replied dryly, my frustration at my pokemon loosening my tongue somewhat.

Luke's totodile, Niles, caught up to him then. It's not that he was a slow creature - quite the opposite, they're known to be very fast over short distances - it was simply that he lacked the stamina to keep up with his trainer all the time. He was an impressive creature, though. Six feet long from the the tip of the snout to the tip of the tail - although the tail alone made up about half of his length. He was a bulky creature too. The muscles were difficult to identify under the thick, leathery, pale blue scales, but they were definitely there. And the abundance of fat that gathered around his belly only added to his weight - although it hardly limited him at all while he was in action. His back was armoured with large, bright red osteoderms - armoured plates used both for physical protection and heat exchange in crocodilians - that contrasted with the blue scales on most of his body and the yellow scales of his belly. But the most notable feature, obviously, was the sturdy, box like head with a pair of red marbles for eyes and the massive pair of steel trap jaws attached to it - complete with the little death cones that deserved to be called more than merely 'teeth'. They were widely considered to be one of the most dangerous pairs of jaws in the pokemon world. He was a beautiful animal when you really took the time to admire just how much of a killing machine he really was.

I had been mistaken when I assumed that Luke was a fire type trainer - he actually had a dual affinity for fire and water pokemon, oddly enough. Sweet deal, especially compared to my affinity for the exceptionally ordinary. His family, however, lacked the funds to send him to Kanto to train in Cinnabar or Cerulean with the fire and water gym leaders, respectively, so he had to make do with just starting in his home town. He didn't get a privileged start like I did, training with one of the world's experts on my type.

"D'you by any chance want to come to the gym with us?" Luke asked me hesitantly, returning Niles to his ball - Stella was allowed to remain out. By 'we' I assumed he meant himself and pink and purple - who had been over training with some more experienced trainers than ourselves before he left - and by 'gym' I assumed he meant the one designed for people, you know, the one with treadmills and weight machines and such.

"Uh," I choked, taken aback. I felt that this was a kind of big deal - you know, he was inviting me somewhere, like I was a friend - and I felt I had to give him a quick answer and so nearly fired out a hasty affirmative out of pressure, but I managed to keep enough control of my tongue to croak a weak refusal when I remembered that I possessed no suitable clothes for exercise and had no idea how to actually operate any of the equipment on account of having never stepped inside a fitness suite in my life. "Nah," I told him feebly, my crippling shyness at its worst. "I'm good."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged as he started to walk away, presumably to said gym.

"Thanks," I called after him pathetically. What I had meant was 'Thanks for the offer' and such, but to him it probably just sounded like a random, pointless thank you. Then again, I had been quiet enough that I wasn't sure if he heard me or not. I silently hoped that he hadn't, he'd probably think I was an awkward weirdo. Which would have been pretty accurate if I'm being honest.

"See you back at the dorm later," he called back, waving a hand at me as he left.

And now I felt suddenly exposed. Most of the gym trainers were still in the hall, training, and now I was alone. Luke wasn't here and pink and purple had left already too - fair enough, I had said about two words to pink and purple, but at least he was a familiar face. I wanted to leave too, but I didn't want to risk running into Luke on his way to the gym after declining his offer, so I lingered awkwardly for a few minutes then hastily made my exit.

Then I got lost trying to find my dorm. I knew the dormitories were on the top floor, but I took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the B wing. So I had to retrace my steps and eventually I made it back home - C wing. I was at the far end though, so I had to trek all the way to sixteen. But eventually I got there and kicked off my shoes and collapsed face-first on my bed.

I retrieved Kit's ball and just let it fall to the floor. She burst out of the ball in a flash of light when it made contact with the ground and jumped up onto the bed after taking a moment to study her environment. She walked in small circles around my feet, and after padding for ten minutes, eventually settled down in a spot that she deemed comfortable.

The cat had basically ignored me all day. Except for when I had food on me. Typical cat, although I judged that she was craftier and significantly more cunning that the norm.

I exhaled deeply, removed my glasses, folded them and placed them next to my head on the pillow. Just something I did when I was stressed - removing my glasses made me feel sort of naked. Like I was free. It was like when I took my glasses off, some of whatever burden I was wrestling with went with them.

I wondered if I had maybe made a terrible mistake choosing this as a career choice. I had a shitty affinity and extremely limited team options, I couldn't talk to people or do most things by myself and as much as I was kind of enjoying the novelty of the gym and everything just now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd feel the same way in a month or a year or two or five.

But then again, I'd never have the guts to change career anyway. I'd never have the guts to just suddenly make such a big decision. Decision making was one of the numerous skills that I lacked.

Then my ancient phone started playing that annoying little jingle to let me know that someone was phoning me and I dug it out of the suitcase that was sitting next to my bed. I knew who it was already. I mean, really, who was going to phone me apart from my parents?

So I placed the phone on the pillow, next to my glasses which were next to my head and I stared at the plain, white ceiling while I waited for it to ring out. After a minute it stopped. After a few minutes more I picked it back up played the voicemail that I knew my parents would have left.

"J? J, it's your old mum! Did you get there alright and that? And how is it so far?" The sound of my mother's voice calmed me. My mum was a total joker. Taking things seriously wasn't something she often considered doing. She was loud and fun and could walk into a room full of total strangers and come out with a dozen new friends. She never failed to make me laugh, never failed to make things that little bit better.

"How is Whitney?" My dad shouted down the phone. "She any good? She know what she's talking about?" Ah, my dad. Most people considered him shy, like me, but he wasn't really, he was just quiet. He just never had much to say to most people, but if he did he was fine with making it known. He had been an amateur trainer in his youth - he had trained for a couple of years and managed to get his hands on the glacier, mineral and storm badges - and it was largely due to him that I had followed this path. Always the one to offer his wisdom and advice whether it was wanted or needed or not.

"We're missing you already!" My mum again this time.

"Get Pryce's badge before the old git kicks the bucket!" I let out a choked laugh at my dad and it was only then that I realised I was crying.

"And don't you be missing us," my mum warned me. "You should be too busy having fun!" And I could hear her voice cracking just a bit. Just a tiny little bit.

"And kicking that pink-headed brat's arse!" My dad chipped in, voice a little deeper than usual. Trying to maintain his happy act while he was on the phone.

Then there was a few seconds of silence as they composed themselves.

"We'll let you go now," my dad said, his voice just as strong as it always was.

"And Luce misses you too!" came my mum's voice, unbroken this time, sounding happy even though I knew she wasn't. Lucy - known to her family members as Luce - was my little sister. My junior by only about a year and a half, the only thing we had in common was our short stature. I had taken my dad's thick, brown hair and easily tanned skin, as well as his stocky build while my sister was build like a skelf and had inherited our mother's poker straight, jet black hair and freckled skin. Personality wise, we were polar opposites still.

"Yeah, you take care," my dad said, a finality in his voice that told me that was the last thing he was going to say.

"Love you!" Came my mum's parting words before the beep told me that the voicemail was over.

I smiled and cried and sniffed afterwards and wiped at my eyes with the heels of my palms until they were red and dry. I loved my family and I missed them and I knew they felt the same way except times a hundred. Well, maybe not Luce, she'd probably just be glad to get the computer to herself. I laughed at that thought. And she'd more or less get the run of the TV as well, so long as dad wasn't watching a battle. He may not have been a trainer anymore, but he still enjoyed a good battle.

All I could think of then was home. Fuschia. I had never much liked the city itself, but I had always loved my home. There had always been voices and easy banter and the blare of the TV. My sister and I weren't the kind of kids that shut themselves in their rooms to surf the net every waking hour. No, we actually liked our family. And the computer was in the living room anyway, if we wanted to use it we had to do it in the company of our family. It was nice though. It had made the four of us closer, spending all that time together.

Just thinking about them made me homesick.

So once I had composed myself - admittedly, it took a while - I typed a text message in response to their heartbreaking voicemail.

_ye i got here ok! im making friends with my roommates already and i rly like whitney, shes loads of help! i got a meowth too and shes great, i love her already! looking forward to evrything tbh, i'm having such a good time. miss u tho, ill phone u at some point!_

I hit the send button and threw my phone back into my suitcase. Most of what I had said had been total bullshit, but it was necessary bullshit. I wasn't going to tell them that I was basically having an existential crisis over my future career or lack thereof, or that I hated my affinity and that my starter was basically a nasty little bitch or that my broken social skills made regular conversation a living hell. They didn't need to know that. What they needed to know was that their son was having a fantastic time and had a decent life ahead of him and that everything was going just as it should. So that's what I gave them.

The part about Whitney, in all fairness, wasn't a total lie. I had spoken to Whitney a couple more times already and both times had been just as much of an awkward disaster as my first time speaking to her had been. That being said, she knew her shit. She had pointed out that I should reward Kit with treats instead of just praise when she did something right - she wasn't a dog, pleasing me wasn't reward enough. She had then suggested that when rewarding Kit for obeying me, I should make use of intermittent reinforcement - that is, rewarding her only sometimes rather than all the time, making the behaviour harder to extinguish.

Those pointers hadn't had any effect whatsoever on my training so far, but they would certainly pay off in the future, although I didn't know that at the time.

I had composed myself. My eyes were still red and puffy and I could still feel that ache in my throat that accompanies sadness, but I'd cried enough, I was happier now.

Until claws dug into my calf and I let out a choked, surprised yelp and involuntarily kicked my leg out and knocked my cat from the bed. Little bitch had been trying to sharpen her claws on my leg.

My cat tumbled off the bed and landed on her feet, back arched, fur bristling, hissing at me.

"No!" I scolded her, standing up in front of her, carelessly flinging my glasses back onto my face and glaring down at her. I had to let her know that this was not okay, that human legs, mine particularly, were not scratching posts. I could feel two or three little punctures on the skin of my calf - they may have been oozing a tiny little bit of blood, but they were basically harmless, although that didn't mean they weren't itchy, irritating and sore.

Then Kit gave one final, loud hiss, but right about when she should have turned her back on me and skulked away, she instead lashed out with a swift, powerful strike to my left thigh. And I knew that I was in shit before I even felt anything.

She obviously wasn't as big as I was, but she was about knee height. Most pokemon that size can inflict damage on people and she was no different. She may have been my starter, she might have just been a stubborn cat, but she was still no different. She was fast as hell, she had lean, muscular limbs and claws that looked like shrunken scimitars.

And those scimitars cut through my leg just as easily as they had cut through my jeans beforehand. First, I felt my leg getting wet as the blood started pumping from the wound, then I felt the dull ache and thought that this should probably hurt a fuck lot more. And when I looked at my leg it was a bloody mess but I couldn't see the wound, all I could see were the bloody tatters of my jeans.

Only then did Kit turn her back on me and skulk away.

And I suddenly found that I was sitting on the floor.

I let out a low, quiet, trembling moan and pressed my trembling hands to the wound to try and staunch the blood flow. It was like trying to empty the ocean using a teaspoon.

And then my hands were red and soaked and getting sticky and I started feeling light headed. My first thought was that I lost so much blood that I was fainting, but then I thought that maybe I was just fainting because I was scared as hell. Then I thought that maybe I wasn't fainting at all and I was just getting light headed and that was all.

And there was no one here to help me.

I turned my head slowly from side to side, looking for anyone at all to call to, but that little bitch Kit was the only other living being in the room.

And it felt like minutes, but maybe it was only seconds later, I don't know, that the door opened and a sweat soaked figure in a tracksuit practically stumbled in, exhausted.

"L-Luke...?" I wailed, voice trembling.

"Fuck," he said flatly, and I just had the impression that his eyes had went wide, but I was far too frantic to focus on what his face was actually like. "Hey, Wes, got an emergency here," Luke bellowed into the hallway then strode into the room and knelt down beside me.

"I-I-I..." And I can't remember what I said after that. I don't think I was even aware of what I was saying at the time. Shyness was not a problem for me at this point. No, not at all. I couldn't stop myself from making sounds and speaking actually. I just didn't really know what I was saying.

"We've all been here, it's cool," he reassured me as my vision started darkening, just a little bit more.

"Holy fucking..." I heard a voice murmur. In fact, it probably wasn't a murmur, it's just that my ears didn't seem to be working right. And I think he said more after that, but it just sounded like rumbling to me. And my vision was darkening even more. And more than anything else, I just didn't care any more about anything that happened unless it concerned my semi dismembered leg.

My second last thought was that I was a real trainer now - I'd have scars, I'd be truly one of them after only a day.

And my very last thought before everything faded to black and my consciousness disintegrated was that I was going to be the very fucking best, no matter what it took.


End file.
